


Shadows of Conspiracy

by Deannie



Series: Sensual [2]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama/Romance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-07-13
Updated: 1997-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 05:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rae and Gina teach their friends about the birds and the bees.<br/>Sequel to Whispers of Loss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows of Conspiracy

DISCLAIMER: UPN and Pet Fly Productions own these two darling men. I own Rae and Gina--and, of course, Dana Lovell (g). I don't mean any infringement by using Jim and Blair, but I could probably be sued for it anyway (sigh). 

RATING: R/lightly NC-17 

NOTE: This story is the sequel to Whispers of Loss. It won't make much sense without the first story under your belt. 

## Shadows of Conspiracy

by Dean Warner  


Rae Safran rolled over with a mutter--Sentinel-quiet, of course. Blair really needed to get a new mattress. She wondered if this was the same one he'd had when they graduated college. Probably. Blair was a wonderful mix of creature-of-habit and adventure-seeking-madman. 

She rolled off another spring that was irritating her back and sighed calculatingly, satisfied when it came out both disgruntled and impromptu. She smiled as she heard a shift in the bed on the floor above, and pulled herself off the mattress, reaching silently for Blair's loudly striped robe, hanging off of the chair beside her. 

The kitchen was dark, and without her glasses, she was even more clumsy than usual, but she didn't try as hard as she could have to be quiet. The tea tin knocked against the counter, the kettle banged against the faucet, and Jim rolled over again in his upstairs room. 

This could work perfectly. She'd just have to make sure it all looked casual, she told herself as she set the kettle on the stove.  
  


* * *

Jim rolled over again, distracted from his sleep by the putterings of his temporary roommate below. She obviously wasn't used to having someone around with ears at least as good as hers, and, while she seemed to be *trying* to be quiet, Jim heard every clink and clank like a siren in his head. He blinked muzzily at the clock and groaned. What was she doing down there at three-thirty in the morning, anyway? 

After ten minutes, the kettle whistled briefly, followed by a mild curse as she pulled it from the stove. With a sigh, Jim rose, pulling a robe around him before descending the stairs. 

"Jesus, Jim," Rae breathed as he hit the first step. "I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep." 

"Well, neither can I, now," he groused back in a normal voice. "How about making two cups." 

"No problem," she declared, producing another mug with a flourish as his feet hit the main floor of the loft. 

"I really am sorry," she continued. She sounded irritated to Jim--like he did himself when he couldn't quite fall asleep for the noises that he heard. "I'm just not used to so much noise when I sleep." She handed him his mug, and sat with him at the table while their tea steeped. 

"I mean, I'm used to noise, but..." Her smile was disarming--just as it was meant to be. "I guess I'd just forgotten what a traffic jam sounds like." 

"Not surprising," he offered, sipping quietly. The tea was one of Blair's herbal mixes--peppermint, lavender... He took another sip. Chamomile and rose hip, he thought. "It must be strange to be back in the city after all that time in Borneo." 

"Yeah," she agreed, wishing she had thought to grab her glasses so that she could see his face. Right now, Jim Ellison was a big, sleepy blur. "Yeah, I guess I'm just having trouble blocking everything out, you know? I mean, Blair taught me how to deal with stuff like this, but..." She shrugged casually. "I guess I just wish there was something to help me block the noise." 

Jim took another sip from his mug before he followed her unspoken plea. "Well, he gave me these ear plugs," he began, missing the smile she hid behind her cup. "I usually don't need them. I could get them for you, if you want." 

Rae smiled genuinely now. "That'd be great, Jim, thanks." She continued talking as Jim made his way back up the stairs. "I just didn't think it was going to be so hard to get used to everything again." 

She could hear Jim's laugh clearly, as he headed back down the stairs. "At least there *are* cars in Borneo," he offered, handing over the small box of earplugs. "Try spending eighteen months in the jungle in Peru." 

Rae grinned as she pulled out the white noise generators. "Peru? Don't tell me. You're a closet anthropologist? Blair must have loved that!" 

The mention of his partner seemed to darken Jim's thoughts briefly. Or maybe it was the mention of Peru. Whatever the case, Rae fell silent, just watching him think.  
  


* * *

The sound of the gunshot was louder than he'd thought it would be, and Blair's eyes snapped shut as he heard the little girl cry out. God! How could someone be that sadistic!? 

Get a hold of yourself, Sandburg, he yelled silently, rubbing at the tears in his eyes, and wincing as he ran a hand over the gash in his head. He tried to keep cool as he stumbled toward the air conditioning grate... 

...Another gunshot--this one leaving behind a trail of blood and pain in his chest. He couldn't breathe! Another shot fired, muffled by two bodies too close together, and he was sure he was dead. The ground crashing up at him sent him into a welcome oblivion... 

...And there she was, smiling down at him. Dana. He'd never heard her last name, never wanted to know it. She should be dying, not him, not that young mother in the lobby who now left an orphaned child. He tried to rise up and strike out at her, bring her down with him, take the world out of its misery, clean up the gene pool-- 

"No 'Lazarus' this time, Curly," she cooed in that sickly sweet voice of hers. Her gun came up, the muzzle blocking her face as she pointed it at his head. "Say goodnight, Gracey--" 

"NO!" Blair Sandburg started from the dream, his body trying desperately to shoot up from the bed, jerking uselessly against restraints meant to keep him from further damaging his left side. He tried to make his breathing calm down, fought not to choke on the air that was just too much for his damaged lung. 

Oh God... Oh *God*... 

Jim! He had to talk to Jim! He was vaguely aware now of where he was, and what had happened, but he needed to see the detective. It would prove to him that he really was all right, that he hadn't somehow pulled a Lazarus again, and that Dana wasn't standing outside the door, ready to take him down again... 

He tried to turn his head, almost screaming at the pain in his chest. A phone... There *had* to be a phone! ...There, on the right hand side of the bed, thank God... Just call Jim... He'd have to be home, right? 

...He *had* to be!  
  


* * *

"Sorry," Rae whispered finally. "Bad memory?" 

Jim shook it off, ready to offer some vague reassurance, when the phone rang loudly into the silence. 

"Ellison..." Jim's brow furrowed deeply as Rae watched. "No... It's okay, buddy... Yeah..." He was heading for the stairs now, quickly, and she tuned in to the cordless phone, listening to both sides of the conversation at once. 

"...remember all of it, Jim." 

Blair. And he sounded terrified. She headed for his room, intent enough on finding some clothes of her own that she caught only bits and pieces. 

"Just relax, Chief," Jim soothed. Rae could hear him slipping on a pair of jeans. "We'll be right over." She missed Blair's next words, but heard Jim clearly as he descended the stairs. "Okay... Okay... Look, Chief, call the nurse, and get her to give you something for the--" He snorted angrily. "It's what hospitals are *for*, Blair... Okay. Okay, fine... Yeah. Give me ten minutes... Bye." 

Rae barreled out of Blair's room, slipping on her shoes as she went. Jim just grabbed his jacket and turned to her. 

"He asked me to tell you not to come." 

Rae took a step back. "Why?" she asked suspiciously. 

Jim shook his head sadly. "He's a little freaked out, Rae. Between the drugs they've got him on, and... He says he remembers everything... He didn't want you to--" 

"See him lose it," she finished, irritated. "No, he never does." The shoes came off, and she headed back into the kitchen to finish taking care of the dishes from their tea, trying hard not to sound bitter. "Just give him my love, Jim. Tell him I'll see him tomorrow." 

Jim nodded and all but ran out the door.  
  


* * *

"Fourth floor nurses' station, Heather speaking." 

"Heather?" Jim asked in surprise, making a left turn as he barreled toward the hospital. "It's Detective Ellison. I didn't know you were working nights." 

The young nurse's voice became instantly long-suffering. "Twenty-four hours today. I'm filling in for a girl who's got the flu." The tone sharpened. "Don't tell me you want to come over and sit with him at *this* time of night!" 

Jim filled her in on his recent phone call with Sandburg, unsurprised that the kid hadn't buzzed her to ask for a painkiller. But Blair had sounded so weak on the phone, his breath fighting past the rattle in his chest. Jim wondered faintly what it must have been like for the kid to wake to all those memories alone. 

And he knew he should never have left last night. He should have stayed, knowing that soon, Blair would remember everything. Knowing what a blow it would be when he did. 

"I'll take care of him, Detective," Heather assured him. "He's okay to have a sedative right about now, anyway--though we *were* hoping he'd sleep through the night." A smile came over the line. "Guess that's too much to ask where Mr. Sandburg is concerned, huh?"  
  


* * *

Blair was calmer when Jim stepped in from the hallway, though that one bright blue eye shot open as the door closed, dropping only slightly in relief as its gaze landed on Jim's quiet smile. 

"Hey, Chief." 

"Jim." Heather had convinced him that the sedative would help him relax, help him feel like he *wasn't* suffocating, but now, as he fought to stay awake, Blair realized that, pain or not, he should have waited until he could talk to Jim. 

The detective sat down carefully on the right side of the bed, trying not to jar Blair's already well-damaged body. Blair winced in response anyway, though the pain in his eye wasn't entirely from his physical wounds. 

"I remember everything now," the anthropologist whispered. He knew the probable answer to his next question, but needed to ask it anyway. Always optimistic... 

"Did the woman Dana shot...?" 

Jim's hand came up to lay quiet on Blair's forehead. "I'm sorry, Sandburg..." 

I'm *not* going to cry! Blair told himself firmly. Not now. Not in front of Jim. A tear slipped out of his right eye, and he thanked God that Jim hadn't brought Rae along. He hated to see her face when he cried--almost as much as he hated to see Jim's... 

He pulled his right eye open again, still bothered by the fact that he couldn't open his left. The sedative was kicking in now, and he knew he'd be asleep in minutes. There were other questions that needed answering before that happened. "Did they shoot anyone else?" 

"No," Jim assured him quietly, moving to a chair, his hand never leaving Blair's forehead. "No, we got them." 

"And everybody was okay?" 

Jim's whispered was pained. "Almost everybody." 

"Rae?" 

"She's fine, Blair, don't worry. Just sleep." 

No. Not yet. One more question--the one he didn't want the answer to. 

"Is she dead?" 

Dana Lovell. Jim knew the question would come up sooner or later, but he didn't want to answer it just now. 

"Dana," Blair persisted, fighting against the sedative that threatened to drag him back into the darkness. "Is she *dead*?" 

His heart froze when he heard Jim's answer, knowing that it wouldn't be safe now in the darkness. Knowing that his tormentor was alive, and waiting for him... 

"No, Chief... She made it."  
  


* * *

Jim had taken time to run home for a shower and shave--but only after Rae had come down to sit with Sandburg. The kid was still out, and would hopefully stay that way for the remainder of the morning. Jim wanted to be there when he woke up again. There were things that Sandburg was going to need to deal with--questions from the DA, reports from the station... 

Jim didn't want Blair to be without him when that happened. 

"Hey, Ellison!" 

Brown's light greeting and chummy smile eased Jim's heart just a little bit, as did the big detective's words. "How's Hairboy doing?" 

"He's better. Had a scare last night, but--" 

"But he's okay, right?" 

Jim nodded quickly. "Yeah... Concussion screwed up his memory for a couple of days there, and when he got it all back..." 

Brown shook his head sadly. "Yeah, I can imagine." The smile returned quickly, and became a little devious. "Hey, listen. When do you think he'll be home?" 

"I don't know," Jim offered, the deviousness making him uneasy. "They scheduled the reconstructive surgery on his rib for late tonight, so... A few days, I'd imagine." He pegged Brown with suspicious eyes. "Why?" 

"Well, the guys and I were thinking about throwing a party for him--if you think he'd be up for it. You know, the Commissioner's Medal and all..." 

Jim smiled broadly. His fellow officers never ceased to amaze him. So many of them had accepted Sandburg so willingly. He was a part of the team, considered more a detective without papers than a police observer with. 

"I'll let you know, okay, Brown? Depends on how the surgery goes tonight." 

"Yeah," Brown agreed, nodding vigorously. "Sure. Hey! You think he'd be up to some company this afternoon? How late could we go to see him?" 

"After work, I suppose. I don't think the surgeon will be ready to prep him until seven or so." He smiled again, grabbing a file and heading for Simon's office. "Just don't bring the whole division in on him at once, okay?" he suggested with a chuckle. "We don't need him having a heart attack on top of everything else." 

Simon looked up from his coffee with a tired smile. 

"Hey, Jim. How's Sandburg?" 

Jim shook his head. With Simon, he could be truthful. "He freaked out last night, sir. Had to be sedated. The nurse told me he was a wreck when she went in to check on him." 

Simon leaned forward, concerned. "Memory came back?" 

"With a vengeance," Jim agreed. His sigh seemed to drain him of what little energy he had this morning. "He called the loft in a panic at three-thirty this morning, but he was pretty much out of it by the time I got over there." 

"Still," Simon offered, judging that, while Jim was worried about the kid, he couldn't be *too* worried. He'd never have left that hospital room this morning otherwise. "Now he's got his memory back, the case is going to get a lot easier to prosecute." 

"How was it not easy before, sir?" Dana Lovell was all but strapped down on the table, ready for the lethal injection *now.* With nearly twenty living witnesses and at least three dead bodies and one live one that could be proven to be shot by her weapon, what could she possibly say that could get her off? 

Simon sighed angrily. "It probably *is* cut and dried, Jim," he reassured his detective. "But the defense is angling for a plea of mental incompetence. Once that one comes out, it's always a crapshoot from there." 

"But what about the other bank robberies?" 

"Well, we should be able to link her to the ones in Spokane and that one last month in Seattle, but unless we want to go to federal court with it, or argue over which state has jurisdiction, the ones in Oregon and California are off-limits." He tossed a file across the desk, turning to fill his coffee mug after silently offering some to his detective. "I want you to work with the DA's office on this one, Jim. Make sure that woman never sees the light of day again." He handed over a mug. "A nuthouse or the state penitentiary, I don't care, so long as she's locked away for good." 

Jim smiled through his sip of Columbian blend. "Sure I'm not too involved in this one already, Simon?" 

The captain pegged him with an irritated glare. "This one is personal for *all* of us, Ellison."  
  


* * *

Rae jumped as her friend's eye snapped open, looking around in panic. She stood carefully and grabbed his right hand, squeezing it in reassurance. 

"It's okay, Beautiful," she soothed, watching the fear bleed out of his visage. "You're all right." 

He nodded painfully, wondering if he was ever going to wake up again without that momentary fright. "Where's Jim?" he croaked. 

"He's at work," Rae shot back quickly, damning herself for it in an instant. She had no claim on Blair, after all. And if what she'd seen in the last week was any indication, Jim Ellison had every claim in the world. 

Blair caught the irritation, and misinterpreted it cleanly. "I'm sorry, Rae. This probably wasn't your idea of a relaxing vacation in Cascade, huh?" 

She smiled in response, shaking off her momentary jealousy. "No, it wasn't... But then, I hadn't planned on living with such a great guy while I was here, either." 

"He likes redheads, Rae," Blair offered, a slight smile marring his look of mock anger. "I don't think you're his type." 

"I'm probably more his type than you realize," she responded, a vixen's gleam in her eyes. "After all, he did invite me to stay with him." 

Blair wasn't going to be caught by his old friend's transparent jibes. "How do to like my old bed? Moved out to the couch yet?" 

Rae swatted him lightly, adding a laugh for good measure. "You're no fun at all, you know that?" 

He smiled back winsomely. "Sorry." 

"Yeah, I'll bet." Rae just sat with him for a moment, watching him quietly digest the memories he'd regained of his ordeal. "You okay?" she finally ventured. 

Blair nodded, but his eye didn't back up the claim. "I just... You know, I was afraid they'd found you in the parking lot and..." 

She squeezed his hand again quickly. "But I'm okay, Beautiful. And so are you." 

"But a lot of other people aren't." 

Rae just stared at him. He was really going to work himself up to feeling guilty about this, wasn't he? God! Blair Sandburg could blame himself for the birth of Hitler, if he tried. "And a lot of others *are*, Blair," she stated, almost coldly. "And it has a lot to do with you." 

He shook his head. "No it doesn't. I was trying to get out--" 

"To let the police know what was going on, right?" she finished for him. "What else were you going to do? Play dead for a while longer, while she killed the *rest* of the hostages? Or maybe just rush in there and take three gunmen on by yourself?!" 

"Rebekah--" 

"Don't you *dare* 'Rebekah' me, Blair," she threatened in a cold tone. "You know I'm right, you're just too stubborn to admit it." She softened slightly, her thumb running quietly over his hand. "Jim was amazed by you, you know? I think you really surprised him." 

There was a light in Blair's eye, but Rae didn't let on that she'd seen it. Her mind churned quietly with more ideas, as the yenta in her sought to find a way to get these two--who so obviously meant the world to each other--together. 

With Blair, she thought she could be pretty up front. He was almost family, after all. With Jim... Well, she didn't know how *that* was going to work at all. But she'd figure it out--that was what she was good at. 

"Blair, you know, Jim--" 

*Damn! Of all the bad timing!* two seconds later, Jim Ellison walked in the door, smiling down at them as they sat there, hands entwined. 

"Hey, Chief," he offered quietly, not seeming to notice as Rae shifted to the side so he could sit in the chair by his partner's bed. "How you doing?" 

Blair wanted to shrug, but he wanted to keep his left lung more. "Okay, I guess. Better." 

"Listen, I know you don't want to deal with this, but--" 

"When's the DA coming over?" Blair cut in tiredly. He knew he'd have to give his statement--probably testify in court, too. A sigh was beyond him right now, but if he'd been capable, it would have been a doozy. 

"Beverly's ready whenever you are," Jim offered. "I think you should wait a couple of days though, Chief. You've got the second surgery scheduled for tonight, and--" 

"I might as well do it now, Jim," Blair stated, cutting in again. He hated that sound of concern in Jim's voice. It sounded too "Big Brother", and Blair definitely didn't want to look at Jim like *that*. "I'll probably be doped up on painkillers for the next week anyway." His eye grew cold, and he knew the look was alien in his face. "I just want to make sure that that woman is put away for good." 

Jim reached out a hand and rubbed soothingly at Blair's right arm. "Okay, pal," he agreed. "I'll have her come over. The police report can wait for a couple of days. It'll all be in the deposition anyway." 

Blair nodded silently. Why did that *bitch* have to live? And why did he have to be so disappointed that she *did*? He wasn't an angry man, after all. He'd never wanted someone dead before... 

Why did he have to feel like this *now*?  
  


* * *

The surgery went well, pins and plates put in to take the place of too much of Blair's rib. He fought with the nurses about the painkillers, fought with the doctors about when he could leave, and--at least as far as Rae could tell--fought with himself about what he should feel. She tried to help him over his guilt, her thoughts of matchmaking forgotten in her friend's pain. 

Blair's blue funk lasted for days, well after he'd come back home, the mood lifting only briefly when the cops who worked with him threw him a party. The reason for the party itself seemed to deepen his guilt, though, and she had caught him sitting in his room a few days afterward, staring at the Commissioner's Medal of Honour with something like disgust. 

"Don't like the Commissioner?" she asked quietly, acutely aware of Jim's sleeping form above them. 

Blair performed the almost-laughable half shrug that he adopted these days. His rib was healing nicely, and he actually had a fair range of motion, but he felt stiff *all* the time, and had refused to take the heavier painkillers that the doctor had prescribed to help him sleep. 

"Come on, Beautiful," she whispered, sitting next to him on the bed and pulling the medal from his guilty fingers. "Let it go." 

"I can't, Rebekah," he whispered back, sliding stiffly down the bed until they were lying in each other's arms. "Do you remember what your father said about peace?" 

She chuckled. "Blair, Dad says a lot of things--you've always listened to him more than I have." 

"He said 'Peace is forgiving the people who hurt you the most'." 

"And you're not feeling very peaceful these days, is that it?" 

"When she shot that woman... God, Rae, I've *never* seen anything so cold-blooded. And then to be so... cavalier... about shooting the woman's daughter as well." He sighed, groaning slightly at the pain in his chest--the pain that still wasn't entirely physical. "I've never been sorry that someone survived a gunshot before, Rae." 

She lay with him quietly for a long moment, just holding him. When she spoke, it was deep and quiet and comforting. "You want her dead." 

Blair nodded. "Dead and buried, and preferably dissected beforehand." He groaned again, and she heard the sniffle that prefaced tears. "Naomi taught me to be forgiving, Rae. But I just can't." 

"And that makes you...?" 

He shrugged, knowing where she was going with this. "It makes me human, I know. I just... I don't want to feel like this." 

She hugged his stomach tightly. "Then let it go. She'll get what's coming to her, Blair. It isn't your fault." 

He sniffled again, mightily, staving off tears that he would never show the woman in his arms. Naomi had told him, when they first hooked up with Rae and her father, that Blair should think of the girl as his sister. He had to be strong for her--her own mother had died not a year before--and he had to protect her. 

Old habits die hard, and he still failed to realize that Rae was not a grief-stricken five-year-old anymore. She was a grown woman who could take care of herself... 

And maybe, if he'd let her, she could take care of *him*, too. 

They lay there silently for nearly an hour, before Rae stiffened slightly. 

"What?" Blair asked in a whisper. 

She cocked her head, listening, trying to keep her features looking worried. Jim called his partner's name quietly in his sleep one more time, and she fought not to smile. 

This wasn't a nightmare. This was a dream--and she'd heard it fairly regularly since she convinced Jim that she was wearing those white noise generators he'd given her. Before that, even in his sleep he'd been guarded, knowing she could hear him in the night. But now... He thought he was safe. 

"Rae?" Blair asked again, fearing she was zoning out. "What is it?" 

"It's Jim," she breathed sadly. "He keeps having these nightmares." She turned to him in the darkness, and he could dimly see the worry on her face. "I didn't want to wake him when I heard it the night before you came home, but..." 

Jim's dream was stepping up. She had to get Blair moving quickly. 

"Maybe *you* should go up there," she suggested shyly. 

"Rae, he has a right to his own dreams." 

*Not this one*, she thought slyly. *This one should definitely be shared--and maybe it'll pull you out of this mood you've been in!* 

"He just sounds so sad, Blair," she continued. "When he thought that that psycho had killed you...? Well, you didn't see him." 

*Come on, Blair, Come *on*! He's going to be finished by the time you get your ass up there!* 

Blair finally made the move to sit, pulling on his robe. 

*Forget the robe! He wants to see you *without* the robe, trust me!* 

"I'll be right back," he offered quietly, shuffling as he made his way toward the stairs. 

Jim *did* sound like he was in the throws of a major dream. He was panting, a small groan coming out every once in a while. Blair almost stopped when he heard his partner whisper. 

"Oh God..." 

*Wait*. Blair did stop now. That wasn't the sound of a man in a nightmare... 

*Come on,* Rae prayed silently from her perch on Blair's bed. *Come on. Say his name again...* 

"Oh..." Jim groaned again, and Blair blushed brightly enough that he wasn't going to need a light to find his way back to his room. "Oh, yeah..." 

*NO!* Rae almost screamed as she heard Blair descend the stairs. *Damnit! These two are *so* dense!* 

She tried not to glare at her friend as he entered the bedroom and slipped back into bed. 

"Blair, I thought--" 

"Don't worry, Rae," he offered quietly, fighting his embarrassment and the quiet needy voice inside that wished Jim was dreaming about *him*. 

"It definitely wasn't a nightmare."  
  


* * *

Rae arrived at the University the next morning in a sullen mood. Two minutes after Blair had slipped back into bed, Jim had *finally* bothered to call his name again. Call his name and come in his sleep--all for the love of Blair. 

Two more oblivious men weren't to be found on the planet. 

A small greying woman and her surprisingly hefty daughter walked past her as she strode toward the Anthropology building. She'd thought she recognized the woman, and was suddenly sure of it when the woman turned and called to her. 

"Hey? Aren't you Blair's friend?" 

Rae tried to place her, coming up only with a memory of the day at the bank. "Yeah. Rae Safran. You are...?" 

"Oh, sorry. Gina Dickerson," the woman filled in, offering her hand. "I used to work with Detective Ellison when he was in Vice." Her smile changed slightly, and Rae had a hard time placing the change until the woman spoke again. "How are they doing?" 

"*They*?" 

Gina just looked at her for a moment, ignoring her daughter, who rolled her eyes. 

"Matchmaker," the student muttered long-sufferingly. 

Rae suddenly smiled brightly at the Vice cop. "Listen... I have to run a couple of Blair's classes this morning, but would you like to have lunch...?"  
  


* * *

"Ellison." 

"Hey, Jimmy." 

Jim rolled his eyes. How he'd gotten through the last two weeks without running into "Gina in matchmaker mode" he didn't know, but it had obviously been too good to be true. 

"Hi, Gina." 

She snorted. "Such an *edge* to your tone," she chastised lightly. "And here, I was going to invite you out to dinner." 

"Not another one of your dinners, Gina," Jim pleaded, looking around the bullpen, hoping no one noticed him. Gina was legend for her penchant to set people up--and always with the wrong person. 

The standard scenario ran through Jim's mind: Gina calls person A, and invites him to dinner, while also inviting person B--who would be just *per*fect for person A--and person C, a friend/coworker/relative of either A or B. Halfway through the evening, Gina and C, either together or separately, realize that they left the iron on/have to pick someone up at the airport/have a prior engagement/have to answer the call of nature, never to return, leaving person A and person B--who, you'll remember, is *per*fect for said person A--in a romantically lit, expensive, *won*derful restaurant. Alone. Together. 

The purpose of this elaborate set-up is, of course, that A and B will see their inherent sympatico, and start picking out china patterns on the spot. Given who person B was likely to be in this particular scenario, Jim wanted even less part in it than usual. 

However, since persons B *and* C were currently living in A's apartment, Jim felt safe making his next suggestion. 

"Listen, Gina," he offered blithely. "Why don't you come over to the loft for dinner? Blair's still kind of sensitive about those stitches over his eye, and I'm not sure he'd be up to going out." 

"Oh." 

He almost smiled at her disappointment. 

"Oh. Well." 

*Gotta regroup, don't ya, Mom,* he thought meanly. 

"Well, that sounds perfect," she finally managed, her voice telling him it sounded anything *but*. "When should I be there?" 

"Eight o'clock," he replied, fighting to keep the smugness from his tone. 

"Perfect." 

*Yeah,* he shot back silently, as she hung up on him. 

*Perfect for *me*.*  
  


* * *

An hour later, Rae breezed into the loft, listening for Blair. Not that she had to listen very carefully--he was in his room, the jungle-grunge rock he was so fond of mixing blaring from his stereo, while she detected a hint of the keys clicking on his laptop underneath. She walked over, lounging seductively in the doorway, as she raised her voice above the music. 

"Hey, Beautiful." 

He looked up sharply and turned to lower the volume on his tape. "Hey." He smiled broadly. She was wearing one of his flannel shirts and a baggy pair of jeans. Her long hair, parted down the center, was a loose parody of his own. "Have they figured out that you're not me yet?" 

She grinned in return. "Well, the four guys and one girl who've given me their phone numbers in the past week seem to have figured it out." She looked suddenly puzzled. "Maybe the girl didn't, though. Think I should call and make sure?" 

"Who was it?" 

"Liz O'Brien?" 

Blair smirked. "Don't worry. She knows." 

"Good," Rae shot back, leering. "Cause she's really cute." She joined in her friend's laughter and moved to sit on the bed. "Get a shower and get dressed," she ordered. "We're going out to dinner." 

Blair blinked. 

"You still owe me that amazing dinner from two weeks ago, Beautiful. I am *not* going to let you back out on me." 

He thought about it. Maybe he could just pull his hair down over his face, so no one could see the stitches and the bruising that circled his still-blurry left eye. "Rae, can we put it off a few days? Just until I get these stitches out? I look like Luke Skywalker in *The Empire Strikes Back*." 

She rose, heading for his closet. "No," she told him, pulling out a colbalt blue silk shirt and his sexiest jeans. "You're taking me out. Actually, you're taking a few of us out." She turned to him, hands on hips, affecting her best "Mother" pose. "I ran into Gina Dickerson at the University today. We're going to go with her and Jim." 

"Rae, come on--" 

"No!" She sat back down, a little of the wind coming out of her sails. "Come on, Blair. You can't stay in here forever." Her gentle smile did much to convince him. "Besides, maybe a nice dinner out is what you need to get you out of this depression you seem to have slumped into." 

He shook his head. "Hey, I'm not depressed." 

"Right." 

Okay, fine, he thought angrily. You got me. I *am* depressed. I'm depressed, and I still want Lovell dead, and I look like something out of *Frankstein's Monster.* 

But I'll go--if only to shut you up. 

Rae smiled as he finally rose from his chair, heading for the shower. This was going to be easier than she thought.  
  


* * *

Jim coasted in at six-thirty, after stopping by the grocery store to pick up lasagna fixings. Blair made a great lasagna, and Jim had kind of missed the kid's cooking in the last couple of weeks. Sandburg had been letting something eat away at him for far too long now, and Jim hadn't really had a chance to talk to him about it. 

Well, he'd had the chance, but not alone. And given Blair's apparent feelings about Rae seeing him break down, Jim hadn't wanted to push it. Rae was leaving for the Yukon as soon as Blair went back to his teaching, and maybe then Jim could get him to open up. 

"Hey, Sandburg!" 

He heard his partner stand up from the chair in his room, and head for the kitchen, as Jim started to unload the groceries. He'd bought a couple of bottles of wine and the fixings for a cheese plate--just to give the illusion of a dinner party, he told himself. 

"Hey, Jim." 

"Listen," Jim said quietly, still unloading the food without looking toward his partner. "We've got just enough time for you to make that lasagna of yours, before Gina--" He broke off as he turned around. 

Blair looked *stunning*. Even with his left eye still dropping slightly, the blue of his shirt made his whole face shine. And those jeans... Tight in all the right places... 

Jim realized he was staring, and stopped. 

"Um... Anyway, Gina's going to be here at eight, so we'd better get moving on dinner." 

Blair's confused look seemed to make him, if anything, *more* beautiful. "Rae told me we were going out to dinner." 

"I told Gina you probably didn't want to go out just yet," Jim ventured. "Do you want to?" 

Blair's smile was relieved, as the kid sat comfortably at the table. He wasn't as stiff anymore, and his almost fluid movements were a little too much for his roommate. 

"No, man. This is great." He sat back carefully, looking over at the goodies Jim had bought. "Hey! Wine and everything. This'll be fun." 

*Yeah,* Jim thought, shaking the image of Blair from his mind. *Fun.* 

"So where's Rae?" 

Blair was setting out his pasta fixings now, and he half-shrugged. "She had to run down to the University for a meeting about this research trip. She'll be back in a while." 

A niggling suspicion started to grow in Jim's mind, but Blair's distressing closeness drove it from his mind. Damn! Jim wondered why now, of all times, his desire for his partner had to grow from a dull, ever-present ache, to a full-fledged passion. 

Blair found himself wondering the same thing. Jim was Jim. He wasn't dressed up, he wasn't too *under*dressed. Why, Blair asked himself, do you suddenly want to turn around and tell him what you've been keeping silent about all this time?  
  


* * *

Dinner preparations were surprisingly relaxed, though maybe the two men were more careful than usual about not brushing up against each other. When Rae finally sailed in at seven-fifteen, there was a cheese plate and wine on the table, and lasagna nearly ready in the oven. 

"Hey, I thought we were going out," she said, reaching over to snag a chunk of gouda from the plate. 

Jim smiled knowingly. "You and Gina must have gotten your lines crossed," he replied smugly. "We thought it might be nice to stay in for the evening." 

Rae hid a smile. "*We*?" 

She wasn't surprised when she didn't get an answer this time. The best way to make a man do what you wanted, she remembered, was to make him think that it was *his* idea all along. Convince Jim that Gina wanted him to go out, he'd stay in. Convince *Blair* that he *should* go out, he'd stay in, too. 

That put two oblivious men together in just the right place, at just the right time. Add wine and a semi-fancy dinner, and... 

"So, Beautiful," she began, lounging back in her chair to catch sight of her friend in the kitchen. "You making that heavy-duty lasagna of yours?" 

He hadn't changed clothes, she noticed. *Good thing. I'd've had to find a way to make him look alluring in flannel.* Not an easy task. Though Jim probably found him alluring in *anything*. 

"It's almost done," he confirmed, taking another peek at the dish in the oven. "Now we just need--" 

The doorbell rang, and all three of them laughed. 

"You're psychic now, Chief? Is that it?" Jim asked, letting Gina in with a smile. 

Blair just grinned blithely. "I guess I must be." 

Gina had brought wine as well, and by the time they sat down to dinner, all four of them were feeling slightly mellow. Jim had been concerned about Gina's guerrilla tactics when it came to matchmaking, but the older Vice cop was surprisingly quiet. 

He hoped it was because she knew that if she said anything, he would probably kill her on the spot. All he needed was for Blair to get freaked out by the preferences of his partner. 

Blair was, again, thinking exactly the same thing, keeping close tabs on Rae to make sure that she didn't try to get Jim to see "the light". He knew she was well aware of his feelings about his partner, but Jim didn't need to know that. 

And Blair didn't need the partnership to end because Jim couldn't work with a "queer". 

Gina and Rae, for their part, were trying to look casual, while making sure that conditions would be perfect for, if not an all-out declaration of love by one or the other of the men, at least a night of possibilities. Which meant that Rae had to be very careful to get Blair drunk enough to let himself go a little, but sober enough to deal with whatever Jim might throw his way. 

Gina's job was simpler. Keep Jim off balance. Not drunk--he could get a little pushy when he was drunk--just... mellow... 

The women hoped, as the evening wound down, that they had managed to mix just the right blend.  
  


* * *

Ten-thirty rolled around, and Gina, looking less predatory that Jim had ever seen her at one of her "dinners", decided it was time for her to go home. 

Jim, a little tipsy from the wine that never seemed to leave his glass, was silently amused. Gina's dinners rarely fell flat, but this had been an entirely different circumstance. Jim had been in control the whole time. 

"Well, Jimmy," she said quietly. "I'll see you later, okay?" She grimaced slightly at his smug smile and grabbed her coat from it's hook by the door. "Take care of yourself, Blair," she offered, turning her smile then to Rae. "Rae, if I don't see you before you leave, have fun in the arctic." 

Rae laughed in response. "Don't worry, I will. *If* I can ever get Blair out of this loft and back to school, that is." 

Blair looked drunkenly affronted. "I never asked you to take over the classes, you know?" He grinned leeringly, and finished off his current glass of wine. "Not like Dr. Hillary wouldn't walk through flames for you, if you asked." 

Rae smiled indulgently, rising to clear the table. "*He* appreciates my work, Beautiful," she said, dropping a kiss on his forehead as she passed him. 

"*I* appreciate your work," he returned, slurring his words just slightly. 

Jim and Rae shared a look, and Jim tried not to laugh. "Um, Chief?" he asked, standing and walking to Blair's chair. "Don't you think it's time for you to go to bed?" 

Blair's eyes, while blurry, were definitely *not* completely drunk. But he looked the part, anyway. He waved off Jim's hand and stood, swaying slightly but holding his own. 

"I think I can make it to bed all by myself, Jim," he maintained, slipping slightly as his sock-clad feet slid on the hardwood floor. His left hand came out to catch him, and his breath caught in pain. 

"Sure you can, Chief," Jim answered, slipping a careful hand around his partner's chest, trying very hard not to feel the warmth and softness of the silk shirt. 

As they entered Blair's bedroom, Jim heard the phone ring. 

"I'll get it!" Rae called. 

"Jim!" Blair whined quietly, trying to push his partner away as he tried to tackle the buttons on his shirt. "Trust me, okay? I can do this." 

Jim stood back, hands up in surrender, and watched Blair work. He was nearly breathless with his attempt not to laugh when Rae placed a small, warm hand on his shoulder. 

"Hey guys," she began, looking slightly self-conscious. "Um... That was a friend. I'm going to go over an stay at her house tonight, if you don't mind." 

"Who?" Blair blurted out, finally escaping from his shirt, and starting on his jeans. 

"Liz O'Brien," Rae replied, the indulgent smile back on her face, mirrored by the one on Jim's. 

Blair smiled leeringly, standing at only a slight angle as he tried to pull off his jeans. "Be safe," he counciled. 

Rae laughed, heading for the hallway, and subtly gesturing for Jim to follow. "You should talk, loverboy." 

Jim looked down at her questioningly, laughing at Blair's sudden "Hey! I'm safe!" 

"You going to be able to handle him, Detective," Rae asked, straight-faced. 

Jim smiled. "I suppose. After all, I've dealt with drunk sailors before with no problem." 

"But never a drunk *Blair*?" 

"No." He looked back at his partner's room. "I've never even seen him tipsy before." 

Rae grinned. "You are in for a *rare* treat," she told him. "Blair is... a handful--for about the first twenty minutes. Then he sleeps. But you'll go crazy tomorrow, listening to him whine about the hangover." 

Jim chuckled deeply. Blair drunk. This *was* going to be an interesting night.  
  


* * *

Blair was down for the count by the time Jim walked back into his room, five minutes later. He was half out of his jeans, and half on the floor. 

"What am I going to do with you, Chief?" Jim asked in a whisper, swiftly depositing the sleeping anthropologist on the bed and divesting him of his jeans. He started to pull a bedspread over his partner, and stopped, just watching, enjoying the look of the rise and fall of Blair's chest. 

That chest was marred by bandages still, and Jim knew that, beneath the bandages, the scar was ugly, and sore, and red... And once more, Jim thanked God that Blair had survived. What would he have done if he hadn't? 

He didn't remember sitting on the bed, didn't remember brushing Blair's wonderful hair from the side of his face, but he found himself staring fixedly at the neat, tight stitches in his partner's face. 

Terror from two weeks past washed over him suddenly, and his mind's eye replayed Blair's body jerking as Lovell fired toward his head. Jim knew now that it had been that reflex of Blair's, the one that made him jerk like a marionette whenever a gun was fired, but when it had happened... 

He caught himself staring again, and shook his head to clear it, focusing on Blair's heartbeat to reassure himself. He surprised himself by bending down and placing a single, chaste kiss on his partner's forehead. 

"Hmmmm... Jim..." 

The murmured plea shook the detective to the core. Blair was calling *him* in his dreams? No, it was... It was... 

"Oh, God... Jim... Jim..." 

Jim stood abruptly, moving away from the bed as if it couched an adder. He hadn't heard that. He didn't *want* to have heard that... 

If Blair wanted him *half* as much as Jim wanted *Blair*... 

"...want to..." 

Jim ran.  
  


* * *

Blair woke to a darkness that had the uncanny ability to shout at him. Loudly. God! He hadn't been drunk in *ages*! He could tell by the tempo of the pounding in his head that he hadn't really been *too* drunk--which was good, because he would have let himself go with Jim if that had been the case. 

He remembered Jim helping him to bed. And Rae had escaped to Liz O'Brien's. He wondered how that had gone. Liz was known to break women when she was in the mood... 

Of course, so was Rae. 

He levered himself up out of bed, realizing dimly that he should get some water and aspirin into him before he went back to sleep, or he was going to regret it even more come morning. 

He puttered stiffly into the kitchen, grabbed a glass, and turned to get some water-- 

And nearly dropped the glass as he saw Jim, clad only in boxers, standing like a statue at the deck's french doors. 

"Feeling better, Chief?" Jim asked. There was a strange quality to his voice that Blair couldn't quite place. *Probably embarrassed that his partner got drunk last night,* he thought. 

"Not better," he allowed, managing to pour himself some water and take the aspirin in his hand. "But at least not as out of it as I was last night." He put the glass down, heading for his partner. "Listen Jim, about last night. I mean, you know I don't usually--" 

Jim cut him off, turning toward him slightly. "Chief, we need to talk." 

Blair swallowed nervously. "About?" 

"Us." 

"You're going to kick me out because I got drunk in front of one of your cop friends?" Blair asked incredulously. "Come on, man--Like *you*'ve never drunk too much in your life?" 

Jim was looking confused now. "Kick you out? Blair," he said suddenly, irritation thick in his voice. "Sit down and shut up for a minute, okay?" 

Blair complied tensely, watching his loftmate as he paced. 

"Okay..." God, Jim thought, I wanted to be mature about this. Where the hell do I start? "Um..." He'd tried to plan out how he was going to broach the subject, in the hours since he'd fled Blair's room, but suddenly his mouth was open, and the words were flowing out, and he knew he didn't sound like himself, he knew he wasn't making any sense, but he couldn't stop it. 

"When Lovell... When I thought she'd shot you, and I thought you were dead, I kind of lost it, because I knew that I'd never be able to tell you how I feel. And then you were back, and you were going to be okay, and I couldn't tell you. I know I *should* have, but it would have sounded too much like one of those deathbed confessions and you weren't dying and I didn't know how to tell you, because I was afraid you wouldn't feel the same way, and then, last night, I realized that you *might* feel the same way, and I just had to know. But if you *don't* feel the same way, I'll understand, and I don't want it to affect our relationship, because I need you here as a friend, and that's fine if that's all you want to be, because I can handle that, and..." 

He petered out at the look on Blair's face. Shock, laughter... and something else that Jim didn't push himself to identify. They stayed there in silence for what seemed like hours. 

"And..." Jim began, suddenly noticing that he was out of words. "And..." 

Blair rose from his perch on the couch, walking stiffly to his partner and staring up at him. "I love you, too, Jim," he stated simply. 

The first kiss was tentative, as if they both wanted to make sure that they were talking about the same thing here. Once *that* question was out of the way, they probed each other's mouths joyfully, tongues battling in good-natured ferocity. They headed blindly for the couch, neither one noticing that they were suddenly sprawled on it, a tangle of needy arms and legs, groping to strip each other of what little clothed them. 

Jim looked down at his partner questioningly, seeing clear, sober blue eyes that gave him permission for *anything*. 

"You're sure?" Jim asked out loud, just to be certain. 

"Never been more, Big Guy." 

The words were all Jim needed--that, and the look in those trusting eyes. The thought of trust brought his mind back from the brink, back to the land of reality. When he got up, Blair nearly screamed. 

"What are you *doing*?" 

Jim just nodded with a smile. "I'll be right back." 

He wondered later why he hadn't heard Blair follow him to his bedroom, but, when he turned around, lube and condom in hand, his arms were suddenly full of the young anthropologist. 

"I couldn't wait," Blair breathed, guiding Jim gently back to the king size bed. "And besides, this'll save us the dry cleaning." 

Jim's laugh was swallowed by Blair's mouth as it attacked, tongue sliding softly over Jim's teeth, across his tongue, along his lips. He surrendered completely, letting himself be taken in by Blair's movements. 

"You're lucky it's the weekend," Jim whispered as his lover came up for air. "I don't have to be at work tomorrow." 

"Good," Blair murmured back, grabbing the condom from Jim's hand and pulling the packet open carefully. "Then I can take my time." 

Jim wasn't sure, at first, what Blair meant by that, but a sudden warm hand on his cock let him know. The younger man seemed to be using all he knew about Jim's senses to prep his lover, running sensitive hands over a more sensitive cock, brushing fingers against him just enough to excite the Sentinel beyond belief. 

"Don't take too much time," Jim moaned huskily, trying to keep himself under control. It took a lot. He was dangerously close to zoning out on the feel of Blair's hands as they ever-so-slowly rolled the condom down his shaft. He took a deep breath, trying to distract himself. 

Blair seemed to notice, and finished the last bit of rolling quickly, leaning forward to take Jim's mouth just one more time. 

The lubing took mere seconds, and Blair reached up those amazing hands of his, still slick, and massaged Jim's fingers thoroughly before guiding them gently to the cleft of his ass. 

The first finger in surprised him. Jim was gentle--something Blair rarely experienced in a male lover. He pushed impatiently at his partner, wanting more. And Jim obliged, as always. A second finger, a third--Blair had been ready before any of it. He curled up on Jim's chest, pulling the man to spoon up behind him as he rolled onto the mattress. 

What little remained of his hangover at this point fled as Jim entered him, pumping lightly at first, until Blair, always a responsive lover, let him know he wanted more. 

Harder now, so hard that Blair's hard cock quivered with a sympathetic need. He wrapped one hand around it, the other snaking back to twine its fingers with Jim's grasp of his hip. Harder, faster... Blair felt himself shuddering, felt the spray on his stomach. A few moments later, more intense than he'd ever imagined it would be, he felt Jim explode inside him. 

Blair could feel every ache and pain in his chest and head, but none of them mattered. He lay in bed, Jim still within him, and felt strong, loving hands enfold his aching ribs. 

"You okay, Chief?" Jim asked tenderly. 

"Only if I actually wake up still in your arms in the morning," he replied, feeling the loss as Jim withdrew from his ass. "If this is just another one of my drunken fantasies, and I wake up alone with a hangover..." 

Jim turned back, having disposed of the condom in his bedside trashcan. "Drunken fantasies?" he asked, his light breath tingling across Blair's scalp where the smaller man lay with his head on Jim's chest. 

"I used to be famous for them," Blair explained sleepily. "Very embarrassing. I could have sex with Kruschev in my dreams--and if I had enough gin down my throat, I'd even enjoy it." 

That niggling suspicion was back in Jim's mind, but in the breaking dawn, it was accompanied by laughter. "Are you equating me with Kruschev?" he asked, a mock-edge to his voice. 

"No way," Blair answered, laughter in his tone. "He was hairy." 

Jim ran his fingers across Blair's chest hair for a moment, eliciting a chuckle. 

"And Rae knew about this... side effect of your drinking?" 

Blair turned in Jim's arms, nestling his face into Jim's broad pects, startling his lover with the feeling of stitches and eye lashes combined. "She used to be the focus of a lot of them," he mumbled, drifting off completely now. 

Jim listened to his new lover breathe, letting his suspicions voice themselves finally, now that he had the object of their speculation safe in his arms. 

He'd have to give those two women an award. Between them, they'd managed to get Jim and Blair in just the right place at just the right time, with just the right enticements... He wondered if Rae really *had* gotten that call from a girlfriend, or if she was off alone in some hotel room, laughing her ass off at the two, clueless men. 

He started laughing, a chuckle that shook the bundle of sated limbs and the bed beneath them. 

Not exactly the standard scenario, he thought, a tingle thrilling through him as Blair shifted against him in his sleep... 

But person A and person B should definitely be looking at china patterns.  
  


* * *

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